


His Pretty Cage

by olivers_box_of_raisins



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, Kuroshitsuji II | Black Butler II, Nightmares, One Shot, Save Me, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 18:01:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17533526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivers_box_of_raisins/pseuds/olivers_box_of_raisins
Summary: The blood only liked to consume. The spiders only liked to stare. And he only wanted to feel safe.





	His Pretty Cage

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of the sleep-deprived, angry, confused state I was in after watching season 2 and wallowing in my misery while listening to Kalafina, enjoy :)

Alois kept having this recurring dream. Well, not a dream exactly, as it chased him through his waking hours as well, but it was recurring nonetheless.

It went a bit like this: He was part of an elaborate circus show, a fancy auction, he the main attraction. He was trapped in a cage, gilded and tall, much like an aviary, though without even the company of birds. No, instead there were spectators. Spectators dressed in the finest of clothes; their wealth and power spilling from their leering glares, pooling at their feet, discoloring the stone walls and the rough carpet. 

And they watched him. Watched him with the shiny, false eyes of the spiders that hung around the Trancy manor like macabre Christmas decorations. 

As for Alois, he would stay compliant and silent in his cage, curled up in the corner, staring right back at the crowd. He was never quite certain what he was supposed to do, exactly, but all those eyes stayed trained on him still, unwavering. 

Only on occasion would he actually try to escape. Reach out through the bars, pound at them with his fists, but that would only ever succeed in getting his arms bruised. Which reduced him to a sobbing, blubbering mess, trying to hide amongst the shadows, calling the name of someone he could hardly remember. The gold bars of his cage caught the light of the bare lightbulb hanging overhead, glinting angrily in his face. The shuffling feet and murmurs of the people watching him reached a fever pitch, which was when the blood started to rush in.

He wouldn’t notice it at first, not until it crept up to his shoes and stained the delicate lace of the gown he was wearing. (It made him feel like a much-too breakable porcelain doll; if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel his face cracking and crumbling, right down the center. But that was beside the point.)

The blood was unnervingly cold. It seeped into his skin, chilled his bones. It dyed the hem of his gown black and red, while the collar grew damp with tears, and it all weighed him down terribly.

Meanwhile, the spiders continued to watch, and the waves of blood continued to swell until it overflowed from the cage and Alois was ankle- deep in it.

And he was drowning. He hoped he was drowning. It always had seemed terribly romantic, or at least the little serial novels he found in newspapers and guiltily hoarded under his pillow for entertainment (and, if he was being completely honest, for comfort as well) had convinced him that this was the moment when his very own dashing hero was to burst through the door at any moment, scoop him up in their arms, and take him somewhere far, far away from this place.

But of course, that wasn’t happening. Alois knew that. The only people he knew in his life who’d remotely fit the criteria was… well, no one. He didn’t know anyone who’d come to his rescue simply because they loved him.

No, instead there were only spiders. And they just watched him. 

He woke up around then, most of the time. This was one of those particular nights, and he awoke with a start, finding himself curled up in a corner of his bed, as though he’d been trying to escape something in his sleep.

Almost instinctively, his hand reached beneath his pillow and pulled out a small illustrated pamphlet, a few of its pages having nearly fallen out from use. The only illumination in the room was slices of moonlight that managed to filter in through the thin curtains pulled over the window. They cast eerie, dancing shadows over the floor. Alois stared at them, somewhat transfixed.

He ran his thumb over the cover of the penny dreadful he clutched in his hands, watching the floor, unblinking. The moon was nearly full, and was it just his imagination, or was it tinted pink? He smiled softly to himself. It was beautiful that way, he thought. 

The longer he stared at the shadows, the more he imagined they looked like spiders, or perhaps a tall bird cage. The shadows lengthened slowly, creeping to the foot of his bed with sharp teeth and searching tongues. 

It took Alois a moment to summon the courage to throw over the covers and sit up. His feet hit the floor with a soft _tap_ , the only noise to be heard in his otherwise suffocatingly empty bedroom. He pulled the dressing gown that was hanging on a hook by his bed over himself tightly, shivering as he crept toward the window. He swung it open, breathing in the chill night air before moving on the wardrobe on the other side of his room. He rifled through it for a while until he found what he was looking for.

Hung up in the back of the wardrobe was a simple gown covered in woven strings of lace made to look like spiderwebs. The layers of satin and lace glimmered silver in the moonlight, ethereal. In other words, the same gown Alois had imagined, just moments ago in his sleep, drenched in blood.

He pulled it out from the wardrobe and held it against his body, wondering what it would look like on him. He smirked to himself as he swayed in the middle of his bedroom in a lazy approximation of a waltz. If he kept quiet and settled into the moment, he might hear a violin playing down the hall, though he was pretty certain there was no one currently residing in the manor who could play the violin.

He imagined the violin’s music slowing and drifting off into the winds for a moment, and he stopped swaying, letting the gown fall to the floor. (It looked beautiful even in a crumpled heap.)

Who would care? Not Claude, nor Hannah, certainly not the spiders, even though they watched him day after day, night after night. He was alone here, in the dead of night with only the moon and the curtains billowing in the wind for company.

Alois shrugged off his dressing gown and picked up the dress again, carefully sweeping his hand over the skirts to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles. 

The gown was relatively easy to put on; it didn’t have row upon row of tiny buttons, confusing little strings to be tied, or anything of the sort. He simply slipped it on over his head and settled the skirts around himself, fluffing them up a bit to bring them to life. He found a spider clinging stubbornly to the bodice and plucked it off with a scowl, throwing it to the corner of the room to join its companions.

“You do not belong here,” he said quietly, adding a hint of cautionary venom to his voice. “You aren’t mine.”

He stroked his hands down the sides, twining his fingers into the lace designs swirling across the tight bodice. It fit him, surprisingly. A dress made for a fine, noble young woman, he presumed, though he didn’t know how long it had been since someone like that had graced the halls of this manor with her presence.

Ah, well. He supposed he’d have to do that in her stead.

He spun in a circle, savoring the way the silk felt brushing against his legs. A shame that boys shouldn’t wear dresses, for he suddenly felt… pretty. Dark circles under his eyes, uncombed hair and all. 

He threw one hand in the air and struck a pose. In his mind, the violins started up again, this time accompanied by a forlorn piano. Alois hummed along to the music, spinning in circles and making up the dance steps as he went. From what he caught of himself in the mirror, the spiderweb gown appeared to soak up the moonlight and illuminate his eyes in a way that made him feel like one of the stars themselves. He could feel himself smiling as he danced. He didn’t want to stop, and he didn’t have to, because who would care? The blood could be kept at bay, the cage could stay a shadow in his bedroom floor, and the spiders only watched.


End file.
